


Melt the Ice

by FandomGeek123



Series: Leonora Snart [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fem!Leonard Snart, Gen, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomGeek123/pseuds/FandomGeek123
Summary: “I see you like to heat things up,” a voice called, as she slowly stepped forward, blue painted lips twisted into a smirk that used to fill him with fire instead of the ice pit in his stomach. She stopped in front of him, at least ten feet away, hood up and goggles on, raising her hand like she used to her cold gun, ice gathering at her fingertips. “But how about we cool things down?” Post Season One. Not Season Two compliant so far. One Leonora Snart gets to meet with some old teammates,but does she actually know them?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own DC's Legends of Tomorrow. Honestly, this story arc isn't even fully mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the players of the game.

“Fuck,” she muttered as she made her way down the hall. Her long blue parka swayed at her black booted heels as she stormed through the gathering militia and into the battered control room.

 

“Darhk! Thawne!” She growled, both turned to look at her, something vicious dancing in their eyes. She ignored that for now. There were bigger problems than the sanity of these two fruit loops.

 

“What on earth is going on?” she snapped. “Where’s Merlyn? And why aren’t those heroes _dead_ yet?”

 

The two exchanged a look, sly grins slowly etching across their face, and for a moment  she had to resist the urge to shudder. Where was Merlyn when you needed him? He was the at least most stable person here besides herself — which, at times, was debatable.

 

“Merlin,” Darhk said, a creep grin spreading over his face, “has gone down to deal with the little pests now. Why don’t you join him? Hmm, Ms. Snart?” Thawne laughed beside him, sending shivers up her spine.

 

“Fine,” she said rolling her eyes, “but only because I don’t trust you guys not to mess this up given the chance.”

 

With that she left, high heels clicking against the stone floor, googles snapped over her eyes. She saw a blast of fire hit some charging goons and grinned. 

 

‘ _So he likes fire,’_ she thought, pulling up the hood of her coat. Her black crop top and pants seemed to light up in the _heat_ of the battle. Time to show these noobs what it is to play with ice. 

 

xXxXx

 

Mick fired another shot at some charging meatheads, grunting in satisfaction as they seemed to fly back towards where they came. He always hated goons.

 

“Mick!” Sara called, still clashing swords with Malcolm. He nodded and moved to shoot at him…only to be thrown back himself as a blast of ice cold clashed with his.

 

The battlefield seemed to freeze as another player stepped out of the shadows, the Legends stopping to stare at the ghosts of their past, ice playing at her feet and her fingertips.

 

“I see you like to heat things up,” a voice called, as she slowly stepped forward, blue painted lips twisted into a smirk that used to fill him with fire instead of the ice pit in his stomach. 

 

She stopped in front of him, at least ten feet away, hood up and goggles on, raising her hand like she used to her cold gun, ice gathering at her fingertips. “But how about we cool things down?”

 

He jumped out of the way of another shot, whipping out his gun and firing in retaliation. She slid out of the way, stepping closer as she continued to fire at him.

 

He let out another stream of fire, hoping to slow down his now meta partner. A spear of ice shot through the arc, undamaged from the flames.

 

He moved to jump out of the way, only to watch it go past him and towards a currently grounded Firestorm.

 

“Watch out!” he yelled and watched as the two were forced to split to avoid being impaled. 

 

He turned back towards his opponent, receiving a punch in the face for his carelessness. "What am I boring you!" she shouted as she launched herself in for another attack. Mick dodged the punch then jumped just in time to evade the sweeping kick. He brought up his gun to fire at the woman only for her to roll away from the blast. 

 

"Oh," she said, jumping up to her feet again, light and soundless as the snow. "I like you. It's going to be fun to break you." With that she pounced again, bringing up a staff of ice that she didn't have before. He cursed and shot fire at the her, the woman rushing him like an avalanche. She almost skipped out of range, turning back only fire right into his shot. 

 

The blasts connected, and like back in Central before all of this mess, they exploded. Mick flew back, covering his face as he went. He stood up, Kendra landing beside him. He looked at the battlefield. 

 

Sara was panting in the corner, Malcolm having disappeared just before the explosion. Rip and Firestorm could be seen still taking out the rest of the guards. He looked around for Carter, spotting him at the other end of the playing field, crouching by something. 

 

"I don't know about you," Sara said, jogging up to them, " but I thing we should leave before they get the chance to regroup again and come back for a round two." 

 

"Can't argue that," Mick grunted as he saw the others nearing. "What are you still doing here?" Mick demanded, slowing as he closed in. "Let's go!"

 

"Come on, Turkey Legs, who knows when they'll be back," Firestorm said, slowly lowering themselves back to the ground. Everyone looked over to Carter, the only one who hadn't moved.

 

"Carter?" Kendra asked, stepping closer. That seems to wake him up. He turned and then stood, scooping whatever he had been staring at into his arms. The group gasped as he revealed his precious cargo.

 

Leonora Snart lay cradled in his arms, coat barely hanging on as she slumbered on. There was a small trail of blood down her face from where she probably hit her head, but other than that she looked the same as she always had: sare black crop top, black pants, black fingerless gloves, and blue lipstick. Captain Cold in every way possible.

 

"Let's get to the ship," Rip said, staring their former teammate. "I think we have some work to do."

 

 

xXxXx

 

 

When she woke up, darkness met her eyes. Groaning, she attempted to raise her head, her mind buzzing and crashing at the same time. Fuck. What had they hit her with? A hammer?

 

She rolled her shoulder only to be prohibited by what felt like ropes and chains at the same time, keeping her bound to her chair

 

There was shuffling around her, just outside her blurry line of vision, and she snarled, trying to focus her focus. “Who’s there,” she demanded.

 

No one responded but someone — someone _s —_ moved further away, another closer. Len panted as she jerked back in her chair, raising her head as another presence glided to another side of the room.

 

“Why did you take me?” she demanded, panting still from what was either a minor concussion or some good drugs. “Darhk, Thawne — shit, even Dark’s lackey _Merlin_ — would have been a better choice, but you took me, the newbie. _Why_?”

 

Her vision focused enough for her to see where she was. It was a dark room with a single light bulb hanging above her chair in the middle of the room. Despite the situation, she rolled her eyes at the cliche.

 

At the moment, she was a little busy taking in the amount of people that were _actually_ in the room with her.

 

Leaning against the corner of the wall stood a large man in a cargo jacket and jeans, a bright orange gun sat propped up against his leg, fingers clenched tightly around the handle. Beside him was a blonde girl in all white leather (Something, she had to admit, that looked very, _very_ cute). She didn’t appear to be armed, but if she was who she thought she was, that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

 

On the other side of the room stood a man in robotic suit proudly beside the Firestorm duo, out of the fiery persona they used on the battlefield with the Hawks in all their glorious armor. A thin blond man stood in front of the whole group, coat flowing in the metaphorical wind and gun on his hip.

 

“What did I do to acquire such _chilling_ welcome,” she smirked as she tested her bindings.

 

“Don’t bother,” the Atom said, taking a step closer. “Those are special titanium and iron alloy cuffs, enhanced to stop all metahuman powers.”

 

She grinned but didn’t correct him. “Love the new bling but I’m gonna have to say no. Not my taste, you see.”

 

She wiggled her fingers a bit, feeling the frost encase the cuffs, slower than usual, but still.

 

“Well,” she drawled as she straightened up in front of them, smirk planted firmly on her face, “you have my attention. Though I have to say I was expecting something more amazing, more memorable, you know? Something… _legendary_ , one would say.”

 

She chuckled at her pun, missing the nostalgic look in their eyes.

 

“No more games,” Sara said, stepping up. She had her hands on her hips and a glare in her eyes. Len smirked.

 

“Then answer my questions,” Len shot back. The captain stepped forward. “I believe, Ms. Snart, you are mistaken. You see, you’re not in the position to make any demands seeing as you are _our_ prisoner.” 

 

She snorted. “Right and things are always how they seem. Right, Rip? Or should I call you Michael.” 

 

She preened at the escalation of tension. They were on edge now.

 

“How’d you know my name,” the ex-Time Master demanded. Len just laughed, her hair falling in loose strands around her face as she bowed her head.

 

“Well, Darhk doesn’t speak light of you I’ll tell you that.” she asked, a sardonic smile sitting on her lips. “I know all of you. All of your backstories and triggers, all of your ticks and achilles’s heels. I know you all.”

 

Silence met her. She could almost taste it in the air.

 

“What, nothing to say, assassin?” Len said. The woman in question jerked back as if she’d been shocked. The rest of the group seemed to dissolve more as well. Len raised an eyebrow. Was it something she said?

 

“You know who she is?” a hesitant voice asked. She turned and saw a kid, no older than twenty, at _most_. He stood back, near his second half, an older white man, but still towards the forefront.

 

“What?” she asked, blowing her hair out of her face. She panted as it fell back. She needed to repack her ponytail.

 

“Do you know who she is?” he repeated. She glared at him.

 

“Do I know who she is?” she sneered,“Why, of course. Sara Lance, daughter of Dinah and Quentin Lance, sister to Laurel Lance, the recently deceased Black Canary. Born on December 25, 1987 in Starling City; previously deceased, obviously no longer. Reborn as the ‘White Canary,’” she said mockingly, “How was that dip in the pit?”

 

She rolled her eyes at the group’s collective pale parlor. “What?” she sneered, leaning away from her chair. “Didn’t think I’d do my homework?” She looked them all in the eyes, a slight smirk on her face. “I told you. I know all of you.”

 

“That’s enough,” a gruff voice said. She turned and saw one Mick Rory thundering his way towards her. He stopped right in front of her leaning forward and staring her in the eye.

 

“You know her,” he said curtly, “what about me?” Len stared at him blankly. He clarified. “What do you know about me?”

 

Something about him mad her freeze, capturing her with his deep oh-so-familiar brown eyes.

 

“Nothing to say, Snowflake?” 

 

She jerked at the nickname before glaring at him again. “Michael Grant Rory II, born February 17, 1981, age, thirty-five in Keystone, Kansas. Son of now late Michael Rory Senior and Luisa Rory. No recorded siblings or biological family. Known as Heat Wave, notorious criminal. Aliases have included Kronos, Rory Calhoun, Mick, and Flameboy.”

 

He hummed then leaned back. “You know quite a lot about us,” he said, still a bit in her space. 

 

“I consider it my job to know the in’s and out’s of everyone in my game,” she shot back. She wondered where he was going with this.

 

He laughed, “Always a game to you,” he said under his breathe before crowding back in her space. “but you missed something, something really important.”

 

This time it was her turn to laugh. “I never miss anything: family, friends, local news paperboy. If they know you, I know them.”

 

“Then tell me,” he said, his face only millimeters from hers. “who did you forget. Who did you _miss._ Do you know? Can you guess?”

 

“Who cares!” she yelled, pushing her restraints. Her ice crackled at the chains. Almost there. “I know everything else! I know _everyone_ else!”

 

She looked at his little group huddled away from her, staring at her as if she was some circus animal, there to watch her trick but not trusting her to not kill them at the chance of release.

 

“Her father,” she said looking at the assassin. She turned to the fiery duo, “his mother, his wife. Not to mention his ex-girlfriend,” she said looking at the Atom. “Though we might keep her alive. Who knows what’s swimming in that beautiful little head of hers.”

 

She turned back to the pyro in front of her. The atmosphere was tense and thrumming. She grinned at the tension. The ice at her fingertips crackled a bit more, nawing through the shackles. “I’m not sure there’s anyone left for you, but if there is — this _friend_ of yours — we’ll get them too.”

 

“Not likely,” he said. There was a brief pinch in her neck, causing her to tense and then— nothing.

 

Well, so much for that plan. She would have sighed if the darkness wasn't so overwhelming. And the cuffs were almost off.


End file.
